Reciprocals and Rewrites

“‘Gregory, the reciprocal of two over five is five over two. Can you TELL me what the reciprocal of TWO OVER FIVE is?’

‘Ummm... Two?’

‘No...’

‘Is it five...?’

‘Again, the reciprocal of TWO OVER FIVE is FIVE OVER TWO. What is the reciprocal of TWO OVER FIVE?’

‘Do you want me to multiply two over five by five?’

‘No...’

‘I don’t get what you’re asking me! WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!’

It went like that. I really wanted to punch him in the face.”

“Aw, Brian, it’s like SCORE! all over again.”

I leaned over a railing outside of Sang’s room in his dorm, cell phone pressed against my ear, 1 AM, December 8th, 2009, talking to Trung and telling him about the crazy kids at work, just as I would have two years ago.

I had called him earlier that night to offer a meager apology, but the purpose of the phone call was more than that. Awkwardly, I asked for his permission to wish him a happy two-year anniversary. He approved, so I said it, and then he repeated it. How bittersweet it felt utter the words “Happy Two-Year Anniversary,” knowing that it was all pretend, yet, at the same time, still slightly true. Lie or truth, one bothered me more than the other, but I couldn’t tell which one.

---
“Rollercoasters and Ferris Wheels”
Written December 9th, 2007 (Excerpted)

Trung continued trying to pull his hands free as I glared at him. The rollercoaster car returned to the docking station.

The riders were boarding, and now, the other two friends with us tugged at me, telling me to let go. It was time to get on. We couldn’t let everyone else wait any longer. Ignoring them, I pulled Trung closer to me and spoke to him under my breath, giving one last attempt. His stare finally met mine, and our eyes locked. His lighthearted face hardened as his stare began to fight back defiantly. Time seemed to freeze.

And then I gradually loosened my grip.

Trung backed up slowly, still not dropping eye contact. I saw his hardened face break into a solemn and grim countenance, but he immediately turned around ashamed and climbed over the railing.

I watched him exit down the flight of stairs.



Yesterday evening, Trung and I rode the light rail downtown to explore Christmas in the Park.

“I hope you realize that I still hate amusement rides and that you cannot get me to go on any,” Trung told me while we were sitting in the light rail. “Nothing has changed.”

“I disagree,” I remarked.

The whole event was like a chaotic utopia, in that the dazzling Christmas lights, the myriads of Christmas trees, the jolly holiday tunes, and the cool temperature created a fantasy-like “Winter Wonderland,” while the rude attendees, the congestion, and the Jesus preachers created a hellish dystopia.

I sought a place of silence far above the sea of park goers.

“Briiiiiiiian!” Trung whined. We were second in the line for the Ferris wheel.

“Don’t worry Trung,” I reassured him. “There will be no Final Destination incident, and there will definitely be no Discovery Kingdom rollercoaster reenactment.”

I managed to get Trung on the Ferris wheel with hardly any kind of struggle this time, but a small part of Trung still probably hated me for getting him on it. That part didn’t matter though, because what came next was far more important.

Surprisingly, I was as scared as Trung. The Ferris wheel made abrupt stops and would continue either forward or backward during the passenger loading process. Ferris wheels lacked the predictability that all rollercoasters had. Once I was sure the Ferris wheel was done loading and ready to make uninterrupted revolutions, I reassured myself that I didn’t need to word what I wanted to say fancily and movie-like. It just had to be simple, and I didn’t have to be afraid again.

Trung clung onto my arms tightly, gawking at the concrete below us. He was shaking, he was scared, his voice was quivering.

I looked at him longingly and then felt ready to speak. “Trung,” I began steadily, “let’s make it official—,”

“K sure!” Trung interrupted, still concerned with the possibility of falling face flat onto the concrete.

“…and so, uh,” I continued, now feeling a little awkward, “official as in, together: let’s be togeth—”

“Okay!”

“…I’m sorry I took so long. I guess I was, like, I was afraid, but well, I’m not anymo—”

“That’s good!”

“…so, yeah, as of this day, December 8th, 2007, we are, um, in a—”

“Uh huh!”

“…in a relationship…”

“Definitely!”

“…I should’ve waited until we got off the Ferris wheel, shouldn’t I’ve?”

“Yep!” Trung shrieked.

About five minutes later, the ride operator began the slow process of unloading the Ferris wheel. The lesbians got off hand in hand with eyes following them. If that wasn’t enough for the spectators, the next two that the gondola brought down to the platform were the same, but now in male form.

Trung was resting his head on my shoulder, and I rested my head on top of his head. Our hands were clasped together and resting on my thigh. Our breaths were calm and collected. The look on our faces, blissful.

Mon petit ami, [My boyfriend]
Depuis le huit décembre, deux mille sept. [Since December 8th, 2007]

FINALEMENT!
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While tutoring Todd, I instead found myself slouching and gazing into space as he spent three minutes writing, erasing, and rewriting barely any less sloppily his name and date in the blanks at the top of his workbook page. Because at the Education Academy, penmanship matters. I hadn’t been enjoying this job as much as I thought I would’ve, and I wondered why. Replaying the last few days, I reflected on my anniversary call to Trung the other night, and I realized that this was the first time I ever had to work a job while my so called “love life” was in turmoil.